


Lockdown

by HT_Anon



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Choking, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sickfic, Slow Burn, for just a bit, prison shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29674005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HT_Anon/pseuds/HT_Anon
Summary: Tommy is stuck with Dream in prison due to a security issue. Dream acts stranger than usual, but Tommy is determined not to fall for any of his tricks.It’s only a week. He can handle that, right?
Relationships: Clay | Dream/TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 110
Kudos: 515





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:
> 
> Please be sure to read tags before continuing and stay safe!!
> 
> Enjoy!

The room is sweltering, it’s honestly a miracle that all the water in the cell hadn’t evaporated by now. The barrier of lava that blocks any exit from the cage is not only causing the heat, but trapping it inside along with them. 

It must be torture, Tommy thinks, to live like this every day. 

Good. 

Well, it would be, at least. If not for the fact that he has been sitting in said cell for hours, knees pressed to his chest as he curled in on himself. 

The yelling and instant fear that ensued after he was locked in with Dream had worn down, now they sit in silence on opposite ends of the room. Tommy’s face is buried between his knees, but he can still feel eyes on him. 

“It’s better if you lay down.” The prisoner tells him, watching the sweat form patches through his shirt. “The obsidian is colder.”

Tommy ignores him, as he has been since they had finished yelling at each other. 

Dream continues to suggest. “Or you could take off some clothes-”

“You fucking--” Tommy sighs, he pushes his head up just enough to stare at the man. “Shut the hell up, will you?”

“Just trying to help.” He smiles unnervingly. 

The only reply Tommy grants is a grimace. Then, he returns to staring blankly at the space between his shoes on the ground. 

They distract him for a while, not the sight of obsidian but rather the angry thoughts in his mind. Why did it have to be _him?_ It was almost over, almost completely done with. This was the final step he had to take before turning the page in his story; to tie up loose ends and get some long awaited closure. 

And now he’s here for god knows how long. 

Tommy can’t really be blamed when the boredom begins to gnaw away at him. This place is completely depriving him of any mental stimulation, his thoughts can only remedy it so much. 

Luckily, they do the trick until he falls asleep. 

The nap isn’t restful, and though he can’t tell the time, he figures he hasn’t slept very long. 

Searching for what had woken him up, he finds two potatoes thrown on the ground next to him, a glance upwards revealing Dream, who had probably thrown the food at him. 

“Breakfast?” Dream offers. 

Tommy finally caves and decides to respond after just a moment's hesitation. “This is really all they give you, huh?”

“Everyday.” The man replies before beginning to take bites out of the raw food. 

Looking away from Dream, he picks up one of the vegetables and just stares. Any sympathy he could have for Dream living like this is overwhelmed by the knowledge that, had it not been Dream in this prison, it would have been him. 

With a shudder, Tommy decides he’s lost his appetite. 

The hunger is gone, but the anger persists. Without much thought, he chucks the potato at the wall, watching it thump and then fall to the ground. 

To his surprise, Dream barks out a laugh. “Are you trying to mash it?”

“That would give you some variety, at least.” Tommy growls. 

The inmate just looks amused, continuing to eat his own food. “Always the clever one.”

Tommy figures that reply is too weird too warrant any real response, instead, he just murmurs a ‘fuck off’. 

A whole day manages to pass like this. 

Words only said sparingly between the two and Tommy denying his lunch as well. In all honesty, Tommy is beginning to feel cramped in this small space, especially since he’s limited his movements to one select spot on the floor. 

Dream, shockingly, does little to press on the near silence. He looks content enough, watching the crying obsidian drip or the lava run down the exit of the cell. It makes Tommy uneasy, to see all of the man’s previous persistence to talk to him seemingly vanish into thin air.

Whatever the case, Dream’s presence alone is enough to upset him. He wishes for nothing more than the ability to create more distance between them, and honestly the lava is starting to look rather comfortable. 

“How long do you plan to sit there?” Dream’s voice cuts into his thoughts. “Why don’t we have some dinner together?” He says, signaling to the pile of potatoes Tommy had thrown into the wall across from him. 

Tommy stares at the pile. “Those taste fucking gross.”

“Afraid I can’t fix that for you.”

He just hums in acknowledgement of Dream’s words. 

Hunger and boredom are really doing a number on him. He looks between the lava and vegetables, then figures maybe he can kill two birds with one stone. 

When Tommy stands, he can hear his joints pop with the movement, he had been sitting there the whole day. He can feel Dream’s eyes on him as he makes the journey across the cell to pick up one of the potatoes. 

Looking at the lava, he asks. “Have you ever tried to cook these?”

Turning back to Dream, he watches the man shake his head. “Can’t say I have.”

Tommy sits down dangerously close to the lava wall, heat radiating into his skin. A few pokes into the potato reveal that leaving them in the hot room for so long has caused them to become soft enough to tear into with his fingers, so he cuts it into halves. 

“Mind if I join?” Dream asks. 

Tommy considers it for a moment, but finally, the boredom wins. 

“Just- don’t be fucking weird.”

With that, the prisoner settled down with him, a comfortable distance away. At least as comfortable as it could get. Tommy watches him try and tear apart his food the same way he himself had, to no avail. 

Sighing, Tommy hands him a softer potato from the pile wordlessly. Dream accepts, and soon enough they are just sitting there, watching their food cook slowly. 

He still isn’t quite used to seeing Dream without his mask, he’s only seen his face the last time he visited the prison and, well, exile. He’d rather not think about that now. 

But Dream's features are just as soft as the last time he had seen him, save for a few scratches here and there that Tommy finds unfamiliar. 

“Something the matter?” Dream asks him, and Tommy hadn’t even realized he had been staring until then. “Or just admiring, perhaps?”

“Ew,” Tommy frowns. “There was _one_ rule man, leave if you’re gonna be a creep.”

“Just messing with you.”

Tommy’s had enough of that for a lifetime. 

The lava sizzles, the only sound in the cell for some minutes. Deciding the food was cooked enough, Tommy tries to lift it off the ground, only to yelp when it burns the shit out of his fingers. 

A chuckle can be heard from Dream, to which Tommy scowls at him. 

“Little hot, I assume?” 

“Shut up.”

Dream hums and rolls his sleeves down to cover his hands, then proceeds to use them like oven mitts as he lifts his potato away from the heat source, letting it rest beside him to cool down. 

It’s a good enough plan, Tommy figures, but upon trying to copy it himself, he quickly realizes the fabric of his shirt is too thin and burns himself again. Dream laughs this time, and Tommy swears he’s going to murder whoever lit the tnt today; he’ll make it slow and painful. 

There’s no protest when Dream lifts Tommy's food for him, placing it on the colder ground further away. 

Soon enough, they’re both eating the now cooked potatoes, cooled down enough to not burn them. It would be better with some salt or something, Tommy thinks, but it’s really not too bad. Maybe it's the hunger from a day of fasting talking, though. 

“Gotta say, this is one of your better ideas.” Dream compliments, probably half done with his meal. 

Tommy shines in the praise, he always does. “You can just say I’m a genius, it’s what we’re all thinking, yeah?”

Dream just smiles. “Sure, Tommy.”

When Tommy sleeps, he does so on the floor once again. This time he lays down, Dream was right, it is a lot more cold. 

The next day, or whenever he wakes up, it becomes increasingly apparent that Tommy wasn’t built for this kind of temperature in the cell.

Dream is over by the lava when he wakes, and it looks like he’s baking another potato. Two, actually.

But Tommy is too overwhelmed by the heat to care, his insides feel like they’ve reached a boiling point. He sits up, groaning in pain while he does so. 

The inmate looks up to stare at him questionably, but doesn’t say anything. 

When he moves, Tommy can feel his body sticky with sweat, it runs down his face and drenches his clothes. Suddenly, the tension in his stomach snaps and before he knows it he’s throwing up onto the floor. He coughs until yesterday's food finishes leaving his system. 

“Tommy?” Dream calls for him. “Need some help over there?”

The younger can only respond with a whine as he grabs at his stomach, hot agony gripping his intestines. 

Then Dream is at his side, he begins to rub his hand across Tommy’s back soothingly. Normally the touch would be very unwelcome, but Tommy is too out of it to care. 

“Dizzy…” Is all he’s able to murmur. 

“I know,” Dream says sympathetically. “Heat exhaustion. Happened to me too.”

Tommy imagines Dream in his spot, clutching his stomach and writhing in pain. “Fucking hell.”

“Yeah,” He agrees. “It’ll wear off, you just need to adjust.”

“How long?”

“Took me a few days.”

That throws him into another painful sob. _Days? It would take days to recover? He was hoping to be out of here within days!_

A few minutes pass with Tommy just catching his breath before Dream speaks again.

“Come on, you’ve gotta get something to drink so you don’t dehydrate.”

Too weak to protest, he just nods and allows Dream to help lift him to his feet. They stumble over to the cauldron-sink that rests against the wall of the cell. The older informs him that he wasn’t given any cups to drink out of and simply uses his hands, to which Tommy begins to do the same. 

The water that runs from his hands to his throat is as warm as the rest of the room, it only nauseates him further and he whines in discomfort. 

“I know, I know,” Dream whispers. “But you need water in your system unless you wanna start puking again.”

With a grimace, Tommy downs a few more handfuls of water, hating every sip. Then he begins to stumble, the floor shifts beneath him and his vision blurs. Dream is the only support that keeps him from falling. 

When he’s set down. Dream leans him against the wall, he is able to find a little comfort in the cold obsidian. 

“Wish I had somewhere more comfortable to put you.” Dream remorses. “You could use your shirt as a pillow, I’ve done that before.”

The odd persistence from Dream’s request for him to undress flies over his head. At this point, Tommy will agree to anything to ease the painful heat out of his bones. He tugs his shirt off and places it between his head and the floor, then promptly lays down. 

Truthfully, this is a lot nicer. His skin against the floor is heavenly, it quells the burning for a moment and allows him to relax. And now he has some support under his head. Maybe he should have done this sooner. 

“Any better?” Dream asks him. 

“Mhm,” He replies, the dizziness clouding his thoughts. 

He’s sure Dream continues talking, but his body gives into unconsciousness before any of the words can reach his brain. 

Besides the weird fever dreams this illness seems to be causing, Tommy wakes up in a considerably improved condition. 

“Sleep well?”

He was not expecting Dream to be sitting on the floor next to him. Too close, Tommy thinks. 

Briefly, he just wonders how Dream is able to put up with this every day. While some of the more major effects of heat exhaustion have left, every bone in his body still screamed at him, muscles cramping. Does the pain only dull over time? Does it never truly leave?

Then he shakes his head, Dream isn’t allowed any of his pity.

He hopes that he suffers. 

“Did your brain fry itself too?” Dream jokes. 

“Fuck off.” He says, but has to repress a laugh, he must be fucking delirious. 

Dream ignores him. “Almost like the nether, right? Except the nether is usually just for travel, never there that long.”

How long had Dream been here? A month? Two maybe? 

“Like living in hell.” Tommy finds the strength to sit up. “Good. You deserve it.”

“What a rude thing to say after I helped you.” Dream says, presumably referring to Tommy’s sickness. “I stayed here the entire time you slept, you know? I watched over you.”

_Watching over him._

“Nothing’s changed, then.” He growls. “You’re still a fuckin’ creep.”

“C’mon Tommy, you don’t mean that.”

 _Trying to tell Tommy how_ he _feels._

He insists. “I do.”

“Lighten up a little, we might even have some fun here together.”

_Having fun together._

Fuck.

This really _is_ like exile, isn’t it?

There is pain that comes with the thought, which steadily evolves into a panic. Fuck being in here for a week-- fuck being in here for another _day_ \-- Dream’s dead wrong if he thinks he can stockholm syndrome Tommy into bonding with him twice in his life. 

Tommy lifts his head back and clears his throat. “Saaam!” 

His voice is weaker than when he called out yesterday, it gives him little hope he will be heard, but what else is he to do?

“Again?” Dream’s head tilts to the side. 

Tommy ignores him. “Saaaaam! _Phiiiil!”_

Dream chuckles.

“Technooo…” His voice trails off until it is too strained to yell anymore. 

It’s just like exile, and nobody is coming to save him. He wants to call out again, but he gets stuck on the first syllable of Tubbo’s name, his voice sounds too watery, like he is on the verge of tears. 

Uselessly, he lifts his hands and pushes his palms into his eyes. It’s not like he can cry, anyways, he’s wasted all his body’s stored water on sweat. But something tells him, if his body was less weak, he would be crying. That thought makes him feel infinitely worse. 

“Are you gonna try Wilbur next?” Dream says. “He’s just about as likely to come.”

Tommy wants to throw this man into the lava. Or maybe even himself.

Dream continues speaking. “If you want to escape so bad, we could always get out of here together--”

“Stop.” He tries to make his voice sound demanding. “You-- do you ever fucking shut up??”

His roomate smiles. “Only if you ask nicely.”

“For fucks sake--” Tommy removes his hands to look Dream in the eyes. “Would you _please_ shut your goddamn mouth?”

No reply, Dream just smirks. Tommy brings his knees to his chest and buries his head between them. Finally, he hears the older man get up and leave his side. Thank fucking god.

Tommy compared this prison to hell earlier, and upon revisiting that statement, he’s beginning to think there’s even more truth in it. If he had any faith that hell did exist, he supposes it would be a lot like this. The orange tinge that stains the walls as they reflect the lava, blistering heat of the room.

Worst of all, stuck with the man who has tormented him the most. The majority of, and Tommy would dare say all, of his trauma contained inside of one person. The thoughts make his lungs grow tight.

But he’ll live. A week at most, right? Tommy has been through worse. 

Two days in, he’s really starting to question that. 

There isn’t any way to tell the time here, actually. But Tommy figures that at least two days must have passed. He hopes, at least. 

To Dream’s credit, he hasn’t been much of a bother, just stares at the ceiling and watches it drip. Tommy wonders how he can do that all day. His limbs, though still aching, beg to move outside their confinements. It might just be the minor claustrophobia talking, but he really needs to get up and move.

Or at least do _something._

He never thought he would find the option of starting a conversation with Dream appealing. But it might be better than going insane in this quiet little box.

“Is that all you do all day?” 

Tommy doesn’t like the way Dream perks up at the sound of his voice; too eager. “Ever since Sam stopped giving me clocks to stare at.”

“Hm,” Tommy huffs. “What about the books, then? You don’t write?”

Dream shakes his head. “Do you want to?”

There’s only a moment of contemplation before Tommy admits that he does. To which Dream reaches into his chest and pulls out a book, tossing it in Tommy’s direction along with a pen. 

The first page of the book is empty, as expected, but when he connects the pen to the paper he quickly realizes that the pen is out of ink. “Need a different one,” Tommy signals to the pen. “This one’s no good.”

“Most of them aren’t.” He is tossed another pen. 

He can’t help but be curious. “But you said you didn’t write? Why’re they empty then?”

Dream just shrugs, smiling like it’s some sort of secret. Tommy doesn’t care enough to pry. 

Writing doesn’t go well, in short. While Tommy definitely considers himself creative, this is not his strong suit. Especially when he feels like he could pass out with a heat stroke at any moment. He writes one page with some poor spelling before ripping it out and tossing it into the lava. 

Unfortunately, he does think of way to pass the time. 

“Dream?” 

“Yeah?”

“You ever play hangman?”

Before long, the two are sitting next to each other, swapping the book at taking turns at the game. The first word Tommy was made to guess is, for some fucking reason, his own name. Then Tommy makes Dream guess the word ‘bitch’. The rest of the rounds set a similar tone. 

Tommy hates to admit it, but this definitely beats staring at the wall. 

“That’s not how you spell ‘bastard’, Tommy.” Dream says after Tommy makes him guess said word. “It’s an ‘a’ at the end, not an ‘e’.”

“What?? That’s how Tubbo spells it!”

“Tubbo has dyslexia.”

“Yeah, well, what do _you_ know. Shut up.”

Tommy closes the book and sets it down. The games were enough to satisfy his boredom, now he wanted Dream gone again. 

“Why’d you close the book? We were having fun.” Dream pouts.

“Go back to staring at the ceiling, you green freak.”

Dream doesn’t put up a fight. 

Another (maybe) day in and Tommy’s trying to convince himself that Dream is still the bad guy he remembers him as. This depressed shit he’s trying to pull? Clearly it has to be a ruse. 

Tommy isn’t the same person he was before exile, Dream had taken that trust he used to have and torn it to shreds. Now, where he might have once looked at Dream’s kindness and saw friendship, he only sees the cruelty and manipulation. 

Everything Dream does, there’s some horrifying motive underneath it. 

So why is he acting so _vulnerable?_ So pliant?

There’s no resistance in him, save the few times he’s mentioned wanting to escape. He almost, _almost_ seems to have made peace with his fate. 

And his behavior only gets more odd. 

“You know,” Dream starts to say, not even looking at Tommy, just into the lava. “My first few days in here, I used to call out for George.”

It catches Tommy off guard, and he’s not in the mood for a serious conversation. “What? While jacking off?”

Dream huffs out a laugh. “No. While rotting away and wishing I wasn’t so alone.”

There it is again, vulnerable. Why? What is Dream trying to gain from this? 

“I tried for Sapnap, too, even though I knew he wanted nothing to do with me.” Finally, Dream looks at Tommy. “Funny how that works, right?”

It starts to click. “Don’t go looking for my sympathy. I want you to rot here--”

“That’s why you called for Phil. For Techno.”

Tommy’s stomach dropped. “You--”

“You know they aren’t coming, but you just can’t stand the fear, the lava, this cage. And you’re desperate for anyone to save you.”

“Dream-”

“It hurts, doesn’t it? When you finally realize that no one--”

 _“Shut the fuck up!”_ Tommy’s voice is firm, but panicky. “You have no idea what you’re on about. One more fucking word from you and I’m throwing myself into the goddamn lava.”

He doesn’t mean it, but when he sees the way Dream’s eyes widen at the threat, he brings his body close to the exit, feeling the heat burn into his back. It’s satisfying to see Dream afraid, until he gets up and tries to push Tommy away from what could be his final death. 

Dream grips his shoulder, trying to create distance between Tommy and the lava. 

“You wont die. Not in any way that matters.” Dream says. “But trust me when I say it isn’t fun to feel your skin melt off your bones.” 

He flips the tables and turns them so Dream’s back is dangerously close to the lava. Dream even begins to fall over the edge, held up only by Tommy’s grip on the front of his shirt. 

“Unless you want to experience it again, you’ll stop fucking talking.” Tommy threatens.

Dream _laughs._

The older’s hands reach up until they find Tommy’s, then he covers Tommy’s hands with his own. 

“Go ahead, if it will make you feel better.”

The lack of self preservation is scary. And so is the last thing Dream says.

_“Either way, there’s no way out.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOW ARE WE FEELING AFTER THAT LAST STREAM?? IN DENIAL?? YEAH ME TOO
> 
> Anyways reality is what I want it to be so I’m continuing this fic and pretending I saw nothing
> 
> Also don’t worry if you haven’t seen the stream there’s no spoilers in here, enjoy!!

By some miracle, Tommy is able to resist dropping Dream into the boiling lava. 

Ultimately, it would be pointless. No matter how gratifying it would feel to let go of the thin line that’s stopping his worst enemy from a fiery demise, he would only come right back; good as new and most likely pissed at Tommy. 

Not worth it, unfortunately. 

So he spares the man’s demented soul from a little more torment, much to his disappointment. Tommy hoists Dream back onto the platform, feeling the power trip of holding his life in his hands ebb away. 

“Good to know you’re still somewhat reasonable--”

Dream doesn’t even get to finish his sentence as the younger uses his grip on his shirt to yank him down to the floor, nearly tossing him. Which is strange, as Tommy has surely been weaker over the past few days during his stay at the prison, so he really shouldn’t be able to throw the creator of the server like a ragdoll. 

“Didn’t feel like watching you melt.” Tommy defends himself. 

Someone in Dream’s position, sitting on the floor after being shoved down, shouldn’t get to look so goddamn pleased; wearing a cocky grin that makes Tommy wish he had just let go when he had the chance. 

“Does that mean you do care?” Dream purrs, delighted. 

He’s rendered speechless at the fucking _audacity_ of this prick. Is he out of his mind? Did living in this sweltering heat for months liquify his brain? 

Needless to say, he doesn’t grant Dream with a response. 

In fact, hours pass before they interact again. 

By then Tommy has skipped another two meals. He hates the repetitive taste of the raw potatoes, he can only imagine eating them for as long as Dream has. It’s impossible to find the energy to wait by the lava as he cooks the food into something edible, and people can go days without eating, after all. 

There’s no chance of them running out anyways, the system is automated to drop two at every meal time, so six a day. Not to mention the odd storage of them that Dream was collecting for no clear reason. 

But that’s just how Dream is in many ways; senseless. 

“Gets boring, doesn’t it?” Dream comments shortly after his food dispenses. “Is that why you’re not eating?”

“‘M not hungry.” He answers simply, coldly. 

“Oh come on,” The phrase is unsettlingly familiar. “It really will start to hurt after a while, I speak from experience.”

The pile of discarded food suddenly makes sense. 

“Why?” The question is vague, but obvious enough that Dream could catch on. 

“Hunger strike.” The man leans back from where he sits, lounging almost. “I thought Sam might be forced to deal with me in some way if I starved myself. Or even that I might die a permanent death if I waited long enough.”

Tommy hates how he feels curious. “And?”

“And I died. Slow and painful. Felt like my body was rotting while I was still alive.” It sounds utterly gruesome. “I could see my ribs clear enough to count them, just skin and bones.”

Tommy shudders as he pictures the agonizing scene Dream has described.

Then, Dream tosses a potato his way, a warm one that Tommy can cut into if he so pleases. The two make eye contact, which is something Tommy has been avoiding. Then, the bastard smiles. 

“If that doesn’t give you an appetite, I don’t know what will.”

Tommy grimaces when he bites into the vegetable. Its bland, mushy taste is infuriatingly dull. The only thing that keeps him forcing down the food is the image of his ribs protruding from his body that he can’t seem to shake. 

Eating isn’t the only thing he struggles with. 

His muscles haven’t stopped aching from the first day he got here; he figures the heat exhaustion is still running its course. Facing random fits of dizziness and nausea that only reside when he curls his body on the floor trying to cool down. At least he hasn’t thrown up again, although that might just be because avoids eating often. 

Another whole day, maybe, has passed, and Tommy has spent it on the ground in agony. 

“Have you had any water?” He hears Dream say.

When Tommy replies, his throat burns in discomfort. “You would know if I did, asshole.”

Because it’s impossible to not always be aware of each other’s movements. Everything in this cell is so dreadfully still that Tommy sometimes finds himself focused on Dream’s _blinking._

“It would hurt less if you drank.”

“Yeah? Well it would hurt less if you shut the fuck up.”

Dream laughs. “So eager to risk our last life, aren’t we?”

Could dehydration even take his last life? Starving didn’t seem to kill Dream for very long, so Tommy figures this isn’t any different. 

“Wouldn’t kill me.”

“Do you really want to take that chance?” Dream challenges. “Can you even get up?”

He had tried to a few hours ago, he’s sure Dream noticed. When he attempted to, his legs shook with the effort and limbs screamed in protest. So he ended up back on the floor, deciding it wasn’t worth the pain.

Tommy is unwilling to admit any weakness. “Dunno, probably.”

If exile has taught him anything, he knows not to show Dream any vulnerability. It’s what the man preys on, and when Tommy was so susceptible to give it to him, he was doomed to be manipulated. Dream wants him weak, wants him afraid; he made the mistake of giving in once, he won’t fucking do it again. 

“Do you want me to bring you some water?”

His parched throat begs him to say yes. 

“You don’t have any cups.” He says instead.

“Hm, true.” Dream begins to look around the room, Tommy thinks he might be scanning for something to bring him water in. Is it really a good idea to accept Dream’s help?

The next thing Dream says is more than enough to convince him it’s not. 

“I could use my mouth.”

“What the _fuck._ ” He feels ill. “You’re disgusting.”

When the older laughs, Tommy decides dehydration is actually quite preferable. God, why does his cellmate have to be such a fucking creep?

“I’m kidding.” Somehow, that is doubtful. “I _could_ bring you some in my hands, though. That sound good?”

“No.” Tommy denies immediately. “Absolutely not. I hate you.”

“I give you three days then, maybe two, and it will be painful.” 

“I don’t care.”

A few hours later, Tommy begins to care.

Dream had said at least two days, which would give him some time to regain his strength and get some water on his own, but Tommy isn’t so sure that’s the case anymore.

It’s almost like he can _feel_ his organs shutting down. Increasingly lethargic by the second, Tommy wonders when the last time he drank was. At least a day, he figures, but it’s getting harder and harder to remember. 

The thing is, it’s not even necessarily that painful, save the horrible dryness in his mouth and throat; what’s really scaring him is how weak he feels. It’s so bad that he’s even certain that he’s passed out at least once from how faint he is. Heart fluttering sickly inside his chest, he might have to reconsider Dream’s offer.

“Dream?” He calls, voice raspy.

“Hm?” The man looks at him, smiling, like he knows that Tommy has caved.

Fuck it, Tommy decides. “Water?”

Tommy hates how frail he sounds, it makes him want to reach down his treacherous throat and rip out his vocal chords. Dream doesn’t seem to care when he responds. 

“Aw, no ‘please’?” 

“I’d rather die.”

“Fine, fine.” Dream walks to the cauldron-sink and cups his hands, reaching down into it, he emerges with some water. Tommy can only watch as the other walks towards him, then crouches to the ground to be at his level. “Drink up.”

Tommy just stares, even though his body is demanding he accept the offer, he doesn’t know if he can force himself to do this. 

“C’mon, it’s better than dying.” Dream says, but is it?

The two sit quietly for another moment before Tommy can’t continue resisting his need to hydrate. Carefully, he lowers his head into Dream’s hands, tries his best to drink the water he holds without his mouth touching the man's skin. 

His body thanks him graciously, only for a moment, but it makes him desperate enough to start lapping at Dream’s palms after the water is already gone. It’s humiliating, he feels like some sick dog. 

“There you go,” Dream encourages. “Not so bad, right?”

“Fuck you.” Tommy insults, voice sounding much less fragile. “Just- get some more.”

Dream makes about three trips, each one silent, before Tommy feels like he’s had enough water to keep him from dying. 

Then the older sits down beside him, wiping his wet hands off on his shirt. Tommy feels disgusting, but much better, he might even be able to stand if he tries. 

“Feel better?” Dream asks him. 

“I guess.” He answers. “Thanks, or whatever.”

“Anytime.”

It was absolutely awful, that feeling of weakness. At least it motivated him to start drinking water, attempting to avoid having to do anything as nauseating as he did today.

Tommy hates relying on people. 

So he doesn’t let himself get weak like that again. Eating the stupid potatoes and drinking the warm water to keep his body from deteriorating. Actually, it does help, a lot of the aches diminish. 

Over the past few days, Tommy’s noticed that Dream stares a lot; at the lava, at the wall, at the water in the sink. Not with blank eyes that suggests he is more inside his own head, but with a strange fascination, with intrigue. 

It’s only so long before he questions it. “What are you doing?”

“Rotting.” Is the answer he receives. He’s heard that word a lot recently, hasn’t he?

“I meant with your eyes, dumbass.” Tommy rolls his own. “You’ve been staring at that corner like it’s wronged you or somethin’.”

Dream chuckles. “I’m thinking.”

Of course that’s what he’d say. It feels like a trap, almost, to question the man any further. Tommy worries that giving into a conversation with him will cage him like it did in exile. 

But boredom is exhausting, and Tommy is stronger now, so what’s the worst that could happen?

“‘Bout what?” He asks. 

Dream hesitates. “...You’d laugh.”

Of fucking course he would, Dream is usually laughable. But Tommy knows well enough that Dream won't tell him unless he denies the accusation. 

“Try me, big man.”

“Fine,” His eyes don’t leave the corner. “It’s George.”

“Always Gogy, isn’t it?” Tommy resists the urge to laugh, but he can’t help at least some slight at him. “What about him, then?”

“He hasn’t visited me. Sapnap and Bad did, but he hasn’t.” Dream has this weird, lost look on his face. “I thought he would show eventually, but it’s been months.”

The words fill Tommy with an ugly and bitter nostalgia. Remembering exile, specifically waiting for anyone to show up. Suffering through months before giving up on ever seeing his best friend again.

He has to remind himself to not be sympathetic. 

“You did some pretty messed up shit,” Tommy says. “I can’t blame him.”

Dream smiles sadly. 

“Neither can I.”

It’s hard to imagine Dream being emotional. This man that Tommy has always figured was empty, soulless even. It doesn’t make sense for him to be sad when _he’s_ the one that ruined everything. 

The more Tommy thinks about how Dream feels, the more connections he makes to his own exile. He decides to stop thinking. 

“Enough with the depressing shit.” Tommy’s never been good at cheering people up. Not that he wants Dream to feel better, he has to remember. It would just suck if he was trapped in here while Dream suffered some weird mental breakdown, he reasons. “Still got some books? I bet I can beat you at tic tac toe.”

Dream accepts the distraction. “I’d like to see you try.”

And so they’re back to scribbling on the paper, exchanging the book between turns. Dream is sitting next to him, uncomfortably close, but Tommy is hesitant to comment on that. 

What keeps him from doing so is Dream’s sudden episode of emotional vulnerability. Tommy knows he shouldn’t spare pity on such a villain, but it’s becoming increasingly hard not to do so. After learning about the man’s terrible living conditions and loneliness, it just feels wrong to kick him while he’s down. 

Unexpectedly, Dream is oddly good at the game, Tommy can’t win a single round. 

“What the hell.” Tommy groans after the tenth round he’s lost. “How do you keep doing that?? It’s like I’m always fuckin’ trapped and you win either way.” 

Dream laughs. “Do you want me to show you how?”

“Sure,” Tommy decides. “Lay it on me.”

The older takes the book from Tommy and turns the page before drawing the game layout. Then, he taps his pen on the center square.

“You go wrong with your first move, every time.” He taps the pen again. “You always start in the middle, but you should be started from the corner,” Dream puts an x in said box. “Because that’s where you can trap them.”

“Oh,” Tommy watches. “But I didn’t start in the middle _every_ time, why’d I go wrong then?”

“Because you went second that time,” Dream answers. “Impossible to win if you go second without the other player messing up. Guess it’s always important to be one step ahead, huh?”

“So it’s rigged from the start?” Tommy huffs. “This game is stupid.”

Dream smiles. “And you’ll never win with that attitude.” 

Tommy shoos him away once Dream’s presence becomes unbearable again. He can only tolerate it for so long. 

Two more days pass.

Well, Tommy can only assume two more days. Which would finally make it a week. 

Sam hasn’t come back.

Anxiously pacing the floor, Tommy worries how long it’ll take. He also has to wonder what the _fuck_ happened with all that tnt, because it must be important if it’s taking up all of Sam’s attention like this. There isn’t a doubt in his mind that Sam will rescue him the second he’s able to, he’s one of the few people Tommy trusts. 

Then Dream opens his stupid mouth. 

“You think it’s been a week yet?” 

Tommy doesn’t answer, just paces for a moment longer before finally sitting down on the floor. Putting his hands in his lap, he tries to think about anything else, before he really begins to worry. 

In the younger’s silence, Dream continues. “Yeah, me too.”

“What’s taking him so fucking long?” Tommy finally crashes, worries eating away at him enough to reveal that he really is afraid. 

“Maybe he forgot--”

“ _No._ ” Tommy is quick to interrupt. “No, he wouldn’t. He’ll...he’ll be here soon, I’m sure.”

Dream walks forward and sits down a few feet across from him. Tommy wants to tell him to fuck off, but he’s too busy trying to silence his loud thoughs of doubt. 

“Maybe,” Dream begins. “The security issue was more intense than he thought. Maybe it was more important.”

Tommy shakes his head. “Not more important than me. Sam wouldn’t leave me in here any longer than he had to.”

He can deny all he wants, but deep down he’s starting to question if it was the truth. Sam has always taken care of Tommy, ever since he realized the worn down mental state he lived in, he was a shoulder to lean on. Almost trying to be some sort of a father figure, even though Tommy just considered him a friend. 

No, Sam would not leave him here.

But he thought it wouldn’t take more than a _day_ to get him out of here. Every time Tommy woke up he expected to see the lava fall and reveal Sam, heavy in armor and weapons, ready to take him away from this hell. 

And everyday, Sam didn’t show up. 

Against his will, Tommy began crying. He hid his face in his arms so Dream wouldn’t see, but somehow the older noticed anyways. 

“Hey,” Dream called for him softly. “You’re right, Tommy. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

“What if--” Tommy hiccups. “What if he’s not?”

“Well, if you need him here sooner…”

Suddenly, Tommy feels Dream’s hand grab his wrist, yanking it away from his face before Tommy even gets the chance to resist. He’s forced to look at Dream, who doesn’t have an ounce of concern. Instead wearing a blank, unreadable grin that mimics his old mask. 

Tommy feels his heart sink. 

“I think I know what could convince him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Planning on one more chapter for this fic, not sure why I always make three part series but eh here we go again 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!triggering content!!! Please read the updated tags and stay safe!

“What are you implying?” 

Careful not to flinch or show any extreme reaction, Tommy twists his arm out of Dream’s hold, barely resisting the urge to place it back on his face to cover the wet streaks of tears down his cheeks.

To his immense revulsion, the older man leans in closer, putting his head beside Tommy’s and almost hovering over his shoulder. 

“He’s got cameras in here, y’know?” Dream starts to say, his voice quiet as he speaks next to the blond's ear. “I’m sure of it. How else would he know when I need a new clock? Or when to show up if I’m not behaving?”

That makes enough sense, Tommy figures, that also must be why Dream is so unbearably close, maybe the cameras can also pick up sound. The thought is almost relieving, to know he is being watched by someone who cared about him; that is, until Dream speaks again. 

“I’m sure Sam wouldn’t want anything bad happening to you.”

The younger frowns. “I don’t like what you’re getting at here.”

“Well, you also don’t like being in this cell.” Dream whispers. “All I’m saying is… we could probably coax Sam into showing up with a little _foreplay.”_

The connotations of that word hit Tommy like a brick to his face. Immediately, he shoves Dream away while his heart pumps waves of unease and disgust through his body.

 _“What the fuck??”_ He sputters in utter disbelief at Dream’s suggestion, instinctively pushing his body backwards to create distance. “You _can’t_ be serious. No, no absolutely not happening.”

“Oh come on,” Dream rolls his eyes. “It would get his attention, wouldn’t it?”

It’s hard to deny how jarring it would be for Sam to witness that scenario unfolding, or how it would definitely stir him to make some sort of appearance, but that doesn’t change the absurdity of the idea. It’s hardly enough to sway Tommy’s opinion. 

“You’re disgusting.”

“Fine, I do have another method in mind if you really don’t like that one.” Dream concedes. 

_In mind?_ Tommy questions internally, _how much thought had Dream put into this?_

“I could just rough you up a little.” Is Dream’s next horrible option. “Throw a few punches, stuff like that.”

The second Tommy pictures it, memories fill his head like some horrible poison. He thinks back to the treatment he had received during his exile. It wasn’t unusual for Dream to ‘throw a few punches’ then either, especially right before he left, especially when--

“No.” Tommy clenches his teeth. “Not happening.”

“But then you’d be stuck here, Tommy.” Dream tries to impede on his space again, but the younger is quick to move away and keep them separate. “For who knows how long, it could be weeks, Sam already lied about it taking seven days, right? What’s to stop him leaving you here longer? For _months?”_

“Shut up!” Tommy can’t stand listening to the older’s rambles. “He wouldn’t, I know he wouldn’t. I’ll just wait it out.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

Tommy grapples with an answer. _Because he cares?_ Well, doesn’t care enough to rescue him. _Because he’s a good person?_ While true, it wouldn’t change the man’s responsibility as prison warden which seemed to take priority over everything. _Because he knows what Tommy has been through and would never let it happen again?_ Unfortunately, that one just adds more merit to Dream’s ideas. 

“Look, Tommy, you could be out of this hell in a few long weeks or a couple moments. Choice is yours.”

A glance upwards at Dream reveals a knowing look, one that Tommy finds infuriating. 

If Dream is giving him a choice, surely that means he can retract his decision at any point, right? He hates that he’s actually putting any consideration into this insane idea. But maybe enduring a few torturous moments could save him a lot of pain in the long run. 

It’s means to an end, he supposes. 

“Fine. Fine!” Tommy decides to sum up his false confidence, god knows he’ll need it to get through this. “Just get it over with.”

“I’m assuming you mean the first option?” Dream asks. 

“It’s… it’s worse, so it will get him here faster.” Tommy confirms without outright saying it. 

Dream smirks. “That’s the spirit.”

The anticipation is the worst, the seconds dragging on as Tommy watches Dream’s expression for some sort of clue to what his actions will be. As usual, he reveals nothing, there’s just a predatory gaze as the older eyes him like some sort of meal. 

Bile rises in his throat when Dream places a hand on his knee, it takes all the willpower in the world not to push away. The pit of his stomach fills with a horrible dread.

 _It won't take long_ , he tells himself, _Sam will show up soon._

And when Sam finally fucking gets here, he is certainly going to hear an earful from Tommy. It should be a crime to leave him in here with such a monster, even for the sake of security. It gets on his nerves almost. 

The thoughts of escape are nearly enough to distract Tommy from the way Dream pushes his knees apart and slides between them. 

Tommy can feel his breathing become shallow as he forces himself into compliance. Exhaling a single, shaky breath, he grudgingly allows Dream to crowd his personal space. 

It gets impossibly worse when Dream brings his hand to Tommy’s face and holds it before tilting it upwards. At this point he can’t help but close his eyes. Like he said before, the anticipation is the worst, maybe his stomach will stop flipping his organs around grotesquely if he doesn’t have to mentally prepare for each sick action he has to endure. 

Then, Dream kisses his face. Not even on his mouth, just his cheek, then his jaw, then-- then his _neck._

Tommy can’t help but start to raise his hands as they ache to shove Dream on the ground-- or into the lava-- but he lowers them back down to the ground with a growl. Surely this has to be enough to get Sam here, that’s what matters.

“It might be better if you fight a bit.” Dream quips quietly from where his face is buried in his neck. “If you keep taking it like this, he might start thinking it’s consensual.”

Immediately, his hands shoot up, as if the suggestion was enough to convince him; the mere thought of Sam seeing this and wondering if Tommy is actually into it is enough of a motivator. One hand pressed at Dream’s chest and the other at his shoulder, he pushes at the invasive presence. 

But obviously, Dream had been expecting it, so it hardly phases him. Instead of simply resisting the shoves, the older pulls away and grabs both of Tommy’s wrist with his hand. It happens so fast that it’s impossible to process, but before Tommy knows it, his hands have been pinned above his head to the wall. 

Then, Dream’s mouth is at his neck again, placing the same small, closed mouth kisses there. 

“You can do better than that, I’d hope.” Dream taunts. 

“You fucking _bitch!”_ Tommy tries to use his legs to kick at him, but it’s no use when Dream’s already between them. 

Dream just chuckles and ignores Tommy’s squirming as he goes right back to the assault on his neck. This time, however, he parts his lips enough for Tommy to feel the sickening warmth of his tongue. 

The sensation is truly unbearable, how Dream’s teeth cave into his skin in a gentle way that could convince him that it was lovingly. Tommy’s body, already sore with heat exhaustion, only offers him overwhelming nausea instead of the strength he would need to escape. 

Dream hums. “You’re handling this better than I imagined.”

That line might just be the last straw before Tommy actually vomits. 

“You sick bastard, you’re getting off on this, aren’t you?” Tommy accuses, trying to wriggle his arms out of Dream’s hold so he can punch his stupid face in. 

“Maybe.” Dream purrs. “Wanna check?”

Before Tommy can express his immense displeasure for that offer, Dream is pushing their bodies closer and closer until their chests touch. By extension, the movement curses Tommy with the knowledge that Dream is, in fact, getting off on this. 

He tries to get some words of resentment out but loses all train of thought when Dream’s free hand lowers itself to the hem of his shirt. 

“Fuck. Fuck this. Get the hell off me, I don’t care when Sam shows up-- Get off get _off.”_

“If you want me to get off, you’ll have to try harder than that.” The double meaning in those words twist at Tommy’s guts like a rusty knife. 

“No, Dream, seriously,” He tries to convey sternness. “Let me up, I fucking hate this.”

“I guess we could try the other plan, if you really want me to stop.”

Anything is better than this. “Sure, I don’t care just stop--”

The sentence has barely left his mouth before Dream punches him square in the jaw. The action has no semblance of gentleness, contrasting from the treatment he received from the kisses. 

_“FUCK.”_ Tommy yells as his head snaps to the side with the impact. In his mouth, he can feel where his teeth had been carved into the inside of his cheek so violently that it bled. 

He hardly gets the chance to recover before the same fist strikes his side, knuckles pressing like daggers against his ribs. 

“Cry a little.” Dream smiles hauntingly. “Make it believable.”

Tommy doesn’t even get the chance to curse him out, because the next place Dream’s hand decides to land on is his throat. The only sound that escapes him is a terrible, choked wheeze as his windpipe is crushed. 

If he had the thought that nothing could be worse than this, it only lingered for a second. As Tommy’s lungs convulse around a breath that isn’t there, Dream decides to force their mouths together. 

It’s disgustingly harsh, a clash of teeth and tongue that makes him feel utterly ill. At the same time, his chest is beginning to burn from the lack of oxygen. When Tommy imagines himself passing out, giving Dream complete access to whatever depraved things he wished, he fights back even harder. 

He bites down on the tongue invading his mouth, immediately receiving a pained groan and overwhelming taste of iron. He’s proud of himself for making this monster bleed, Dream even eases his grasp enough for Tommy to inhale a few short breaths. 

The victory is short lived. 

Suddenly, Dream is sliding Tommy down the wall so he can pin him to the floor. Spikes of ice cold panic stab every inch of his body as he feels completely trapped. 

_“Get the fuck off!”_ Tommy thrashes wildly, his legs kicking uselessly underneath Dream. His growing helplessness finally makes him call out. _“Saaaam! Sam!”_

Dream laughs breathlessly. “I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up by now.”

The next horrible feeling inflicted on him is the sickening glide of Dream’s hand up his shirt. And as if he needs any more torment, Dream decides to keep speaking. 

“Do you still think he cares? How could he watch this and do _nothing?_ ” The hand on his chest becomes nothing but nails, digging into his skin mercilessly. “Ohh, maybe he _likes_ seeing you like this.”

He grits his teeth to hold back a yelp of pain. “He wouldn’t-- He wouldn’t--”

“Maybe he’s waiting to see me fuck you.” The sheer graphicness of those words put his guts through a blender. “You think he would watch? You think he would _join?”_

Tommy can’t hold back tears anymore, his body betrays him when he begins to sob. 

“Shut up…” Tommy cries pathetically. _Sam would never do that to him, he wouldn’t--_

But then why isn’t he coming to help?

As if on command, the mechanical whirring of machines fills the room. Everything halts, both of their eyes widen as they face the lava wall. 

The lava hadn’t even receded completely when Sam came through on the moving bridge. He emerges from the fire like some sort of terminator, presumably having drunk a resistance potion.

Sam looks at Dream with raw, unfiltered anger he seems to be barely repressing. 

“Get your hands off him.”

“Look who showed up.” Dream lifts himself off of Tommy and stands to his feet, leaving the younger on the floor, completely broken and covered in wounds. “I was thinking we could share, but if you want him all to yourself--”

Sam’s fist collides with Dream’s face with a deafening crack.

Tommy watches with some relief as his aggressor falls bonelessly to the floor. There’s no doubt that Sam had shattered something with that punch. 

Even once Dream is clearly out cold, Tommy can’t stop the flood of fear that had been building during the previous events, the panic crashes like waves and leaves his body shaking. He curls back up until he’s sitting and continues to sob. 

Sam had seemingly quelled some anger with that attack and now all of his focus was on Tommy. He fell to the floor next to him. 

“Tommy,” Sam’s hand reaches out for him, landing on his shoulder. “Tommy are you okay?”

The boy jumps at the feeling, he knows Sam’s presence should be comforting, but all he feels are Dream’s hands when Sam touches him. 

_“Don’t fucking touch me!”_ Tommy cries, hot tears falling off his face. 

Immediately, Sam’s hand flies off of him, giving him an apologetic look. “S-- Sorry, I shouldn’t have…” He trails off. “Sorry.”

Tommy’s throat is too full of the sobs he’s trying to hold off to speak, so he just nods at the apology, staring straight down at the obsidian floor. 

“I would have killed him, I want to kill him,” Sam says. “But-- But he would just respawn, I’ve tried before. This way he’s out for a bit.”

Out for a long time, Tommy thinks, and he’s gonna wake up with a broken jaw. There is a little comfort at the thought, its therapeutic, in a way. But Tommy still can’t find the strength to reply, so he and Sam just sit in silence for a few moments while he catches his breath and forces the tears to stop.

“How much--” Tommy swallows fretfully. “How much did you see?”

There’s a feeling of shame that gnaws on him, imagining Sam seeing him so weak as he fought to escape Dream’s hold. He hopes that all he saw was the beginning, when he was still putting up a good fight. 

“It doesn’t matter.” He can tell Sam is trying to soften his voice, maybe he can sense Tommy’s fear of him witnessing what Dream did to him. “Enough to know you were in danger.”

He’s been in danger since he walked into this cell, is what Tommy wants to say. But the words die on his tongue, and he simply nods. 

“We should get you out of here,” Sam suggests. “Can you stand?”

Tommy lifts himself on shaky legs as his answer, to which Sam follows. But it’s only a moment before Tommy’s legs decide to give up on him, he stumbles forwards and Sam catches him. 

While any touch is still overwhelming and unwanted, Tommy can recognize this as necessary and leans on Sam as they make their way out of the cell. 

He spares one last look at Dream’s body, and prays that Sam knocked him into a coma he won’t wake up from. 

The two finally settle in the grass outside the prison. 

Sam pulls some potions out of his bag, Tommy is able to recognize a few, then he is being offered one that looks like healing. 

“Where does it hurt?” Sam asks him.

Everywhere.

There isn’t a single part of his body that doesn’t ache, inside and out. Of course there is the physical pain that comes with being beaten, but his mind hurts even worse, like there’s somehow scars developing on his brain. 

But he can’t put that feeling into words, so Tommy just points at his neck. 

Sam brings the potion bottle up to said area and pours it onto the bruises. Then, he proceeds to pull bandages out of his bag as well, and lays them on top of the wound. Tommy had figured he’d be bruised, but the bandages imply he must also be bleeding. 

“Can I drink some?” Tommy asks, his tongue presses on the inside of his cheeks where he knows he is bleeding. “Mouth hurts.” 

“Sure,” Sam hands him the bottle. “It’s not an edible one, though, so don’t drink too much or you’ll get sick.”

That’s the least of his worries, Tommy figures before taking a sip from the bottle. The taste isn’t pleasant as he swishes it around in his mouth. It eventually grows so bitter that he spits it out onto the ground. 

He hands the potion back to Sam. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course.” Sam holds the potion. “Anywhere else?”

If he remembers correctly, he had been punched in the ribs as well. But in all honesty the memory is starting to feel a little fuzzy. 

Hesitantly, he begins to lift his shirt. The sight shocks him. 

There’s bruises from the punch, but he had forgotten how Dream’s nails had raked his skin. The scars were deeper than he could have imagined, it’s so bad that when his shirt pulls away from his body, there’s enough blood to apply resistance at the action, sticking his skin to his clothes. 

Shirt falling back into place once his hands become too shaky to hold it, he begins to tremble once more as all the feelings rush back. 

Looking up at Sam, he watches the way the man’s face twists in guilt and horror. Neither one of them had expected it to be so gruesome. 

“Tommy--”

Whatever Sam is about to say is cut off when Tommy falls into his chest, hands gripping at his clothes. He holds onto Sam as if he can keep him grounded, hold his mind in place before it wanders and he begins to cry again. 

Sam seems to understand, he wraps his arms around Tommy. Gently at first, probably worried about touching him since Tommy had yelled at him, but soon enough he is holding him like Tommy could disappear from his grasp at any moment. The younger clings to him like a lifeline. 

“I’m sorry.” Sam’s voice begins to shake. “I shouldn’t have ever let him see you again. I should have- I should’ve let you kill him in that dungeon.” 

The fact that Sam regrets his decisions does little to calm Tommy down. Because it doesn’t change anything; It doesn’t change the fact that Dream is still alive and still trying to escape and still--

“I’m never going to let him near you again.” Sam swears. “I’m never going to let him hurt you.”

Tommy does his best to believe him. Crying and shivering into his chest, Tommy whispers back a one word question. 

“Promise?”

There is an affirming amount of confidence in Sam’s reply. 

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!! This was a fun little series to make and I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments! :D


End file.
